


bolero

by v3ilfire



Series: champagne pouring over us [4]
Category: Saints Row
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 04:58:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8564947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v3ilfire/pseuds/v3ilfire
Summary: “Not to be an asshole, but isn’t it better to drink your drink instead of dancing with it?”“Why, you wanna tap in, vaquero?” He shouldn’t have fucking said anything.“Nah. I don’t dance.” Lucia rolled her eyes, and in that moment he realized that this was one of those situations where no was not an acceptable answer. “Fine. But I’m not fucking drunk enough for this.”She poured him a double.





	

**Author's Note:**

> they're listening to toña la negra. [this song](https://youtu.be/RkYk37JTRyc) at the end.

Lucia spent so little time at her penthouse that only two other people even knew where it was. Pierce had picked the damn place out for her, and since girls’ night was always about a drink away from alcohol poisoning, Shaundi usually spent Thursday nights and the consequent day-long hangover camped out in the plush king bed with her boss. Johnny had never had a reason to go, but he figured there was nothing better than showing up just to hand her a giant rubber copy of his head half an hour before a bank robbery. He had to pound on the door to be heard over the crooning of some old Spanish singer.

True to form, Lucia opened the door with a glass of scotch halfway to her mouth, wearing only leggings and a crop top. It was a play on her usual uniform except missing a pair of heels, which gave him the same sort of weird vibe he got when he saw her driving a car and not a motorcycle. Still Boss, just moved two inches to the left. Or six inches down. Same fuckin thing.  
“ _Que paso_ ?” She asked, and then nearly spit her drink out when he presented her with the mask.   
“Special delivery for Santa Lucia.”  
“I can’t _fucking_ believe that. It’s so perfect.” She set her drink down on top of a wobbly-looking pile of unopened mail and takeout menus to examine the mask up close, occasionally peeking over the top of its shiny hair to compare to the real thing. “You have better cheekbones.”   
“Which me?”   
“Fleshy one. Pre-heist drink?”  
“Sure.”

The mask took the place of Lucia’s scotch on the table so that she could lead the glass in a dance-walk back to her minibar, a space better stocked than her entire kitchen, which was really just a nice thing to call an old Freckle Bitch’s bag sitting on a counter. She slunk into place just in time to throw the rest of the liquor back on the last note of the song, and then filled two glasses in the scratchy silence. Johnny flopped down onto one of the couches in the meantime and tossed his shades onto the coffee table, taking the moment to look around. He was genuinely surprised that the whole apartment wasn’t bright fucking purple, but then again, he only ever saw Lucia when there was work to be done. The only thing tying her to the Saints now was the gold fleur de lis necklace that hung over her shirt, but he was pretty sure she never took that off anyway.  
“So what’s the occasion?” he asked.   
“What do you mean?”   
“Didn’t think dark liquors were your thing.” Johnny was kind of impressed with the fact that she could do that dance-walking thing tipsy and with her eyes closed and somehow not spill a drop out of either glass _or_ answer his question. Lucia leaned on the back of the couch to hand him his drink, still kinda swaying to the beat.   
“Cheers.” They clinked their glasses and took their shots in one go, forcing Lucia to go for another refill.   
“That’s good shit.”  
“Nana Paloma’s favorite. So’s this record. It’s her birthday.”   
“Which one’s she again?”   
“The one I lived with in East Lansing.”

Hard to picture Lucia living with some pious old Latina woman in a place almost as bumfuck nowhere as Stilwater, but then again she talked about her family so little that nobody believed she even existed before Julius dragged her into that church. Johnny was pretty sure that he was the only one who knew that one of their best ears on the ground was her sister, and she never even told him that straight out; they just looked alike and fought every time they laid eyes on each other. In Spanish. Seemed like some sisterly shit.

Johnny chose to savor the second scotch. Lucia made no attempt to sit down and join him, especially not when the woman on the record hit a note so blue that the boss had to stop mid-drink and clutch at her chest. Her feet were going again before she ever fully recovered. Something told him that this wasn't the first time she decided to make a party out of herself and a bottle of something strong.  
“These old boleros knew how to fuckin claw at you, man.”   
“Not to be an asshole, but isn’t it better to drink your drink instead of dancing with it?”   
“Why, you wanna tap in, _vaquero_?” He shouldn’t have fucking said anything.   
“Nah. I don’t dance.” Lucia rolled her eyes, and in that moment he realized that this was one of those situations where no was not an acceptable answer. “Fine. But I’m not fucking drunk enough for this.”

She poured him a double.

They both drained their glasses in silence and as soon as Johnny set his empty down, Lucia had him by the elbow and on his feet.   
“Okay, show me what I’m working with.”   
“Do I really fucking have to do this?” Lucia leaned on the back of the couch again and crossed her ankles in front of her, leaving him standing awkwardly in the middle of her living room all by himself, meaning yes, yes he fucking did.   
“My _abuelas_ would come back from the grave just to beat my ass if they found out my right hand is someone who ‘doesn’t dance,’” she added.   
“Fine. But just ‘cause it’s your grandma’s birthday.”

Whatever he did was obviously wrong because Lucia just walked over and put her hands on his arms to stop him about five seconds in with this horrified look on her face, like he personally insulted her entire family line.   
“I told you. I don’t dance.” Johnny started towards his seat again, but she held him in place.   
“No, no, we’re not giving up. I can fix this.”   
“You sure?”   
“Uh. No. But I’ll never sleep again until I try.” She darted over to the record player and fiddled with it until she found her place in the middle of a slow ballad. At first, Johnny figured she was just too drunk to find what she actually wanted, but when she moved right past him and swooped up her glass on the way to the minibar, he realized she didn’t think she was drunk _enough_ .   
“Not gonna pour me one?” he teased.   
“Not until you earn it.”

Double in hand, Lucia came back over just in time for the breath between songs, her drunken swaying still somehow in time. She took his hand from his side and waited for the initial swell of brass to pass over before just taking simple steps side-to-side, right on the beat with the bass.

“That’s the first thing I noticed about America. No one can fucking dance. I almost kicked the bucket at the first homecoming I ever went to.”   
“That’s the _first_ thing you noticed?”   
“That and everyone’s fucking obsessed with teeth? I remember the day we got dental, my nana sat me down and said, ‘ _Nena,_ these people are fucking _loco_. We gotta get you braces.’ And then she made us get braces.” Now _that_ was a mental image. “Couldn’t speak Spanish right for a week.” She lifted both their hands and spun smoothly underneath. “Aha! You've still got it. I knew I could fix this.”   
“No, you didn’t.”   
“Shut up. Ready for step two?”   
“No.”   
“Too bad.” She stopped them, mostly to take a drink. “Same thing we were just doing, just stepping back and forth. Taller one leads, so you’re gonna step forward with your right foot first. Ready?” Johnny seemed to miss the mark by a hair, but all Lucia had to do to fix it was pull on his hand for the right fraction of a second.   
“How long do we gotta do this?”  
“Until it’s time to rob a bank. Now use your hips.”

Johnny tried, but he just couldn’t seem to fucking coordinate his hips with his feet, which was kind of fucked up of his body considering they were connected. His bad knee wasn’t even fucking with him, it all just… didn’t work. Lucia, who was turning out to be a surprisingly patient teacher, stopped them again and handed him the rest of her scotch under the guise that he was thinking too hard. Once the glass was out of the way, she set one of his hands on her waist and took the other in her own again, ready for round three. The hip thing was definitely easier to fumble out when he could feel her doing it. Made it a little harder to think, too.   
“See? You’re getting it. We should take a class.”   
“You’re kidding, right?”   
“I am, but you should have seen the look on your face. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without your glasses, by the way.” He shrugged.   
“They’re prescription.”  
“You’re shitting me.” Another track changed over, and she did that thing again where she looked like she left the world of the living for a second. “Fuck, I love this song.”

When they found the rhythm again, Lucia decided to test if he actually knew where the fuck it was. Johnny hated to admit it, but he was pretty fucking pleased with himself when she spun in and out of his grip without him breaking, to the point where he kinda started to understand why people did this shit for fun. Sure, they were moving pretty fucking slow, but Lucia was laughing, which was better than that look of horror she first gave him so there _had_ to be an improvement. Maybe that’s why, at the end of one of Lucia’s simpler twirls, he pulled her in against him as soon as his hand found her waist again.

Suddenly, all these little things moved into place, these little shifts in their posture, in the way her hand rested on his shoulder, and then … there was nothing else. Just the held note of an old ballad and Lucia so close he felt her nose brush against his own.

_Iiiiit’s fucking Shaundi, pick up your phone!_

Neither of them moved until the second time Shaundi’s pre-recorded voice looped around, muffled by Lucia’s bra but blaring in the silence that the end of the record left. Lucia broke first, dropping her forehead to lean on Johnny’s shoulder before picking up the phone. The whole thing almost made him laugh for some fucked up, borderline hysterical reason, but he figured that if Shaundi overheard him no one would hear the end of it.   
“Hey. Yeah. What? No, you can’t kill him. Yeah, he’s with me. We’re coming down. Just put your blinkers on.” 

Shaundi sounded pissed enough that Lucia shot into her bedroom for her heels, shades, and jacket without so much as a word. Johnny put his glasses back on when she started to pat herself down for her keys, wallet, phone, and pistols. She grabbed the mask, he turned off the record player, and just like that they were on their way out the door as if nothing happened.

Well, not quite. The elevator ride was… tense. They stood in opposite corners, both staring at their feet in dead silence as if they were trying to process what just happened, but neither actually able to work up a single thought that didn’t leave them speechless and a bit warm under the collar. The only thing that snapped Lucia out of her trance was Shaundi outside the van, grabbing her by the collar as soon as she was within arm’s reach.  
“I am going to _fucking_ kill Josh if you don’t do something.”   
“Check with Legal Lee first. The kid’s under contract.”   
“Oh, my god. You smell like a bar.”   
“Which is why you’re driving.” Lucia broke Shaundi’s grip to go and open the van’s passenger door, at which Josh Birk nearly lost his shit. 

“Holy shit, it’s you. It’s really you. It’s Lucia Valdez. I’m a huge fan --”   
“ _Si, si_ , so’s everyone else. Now get in the back.” She moved aside for him to scramble out, all as he started chattering on about character studies or some shit, but no one cared. Both Pierce and Shaundi already learned to tune him out and Lucia had closed her door before he ever got back inside. Johnny followed Josh into the van, but he was a little too… distracted to pay attention to the kid himself, barely even aware that Pierce was in there with them until Shaundi made some noise between a groan and a scream and got a laugh in response. All Johnny could do was watch Lucia’s fingers drumming on her thigh, suddenly remembering a bunch of weird little shit from the last six months that had not made sense to him until that moment.

Lucia’s fingers stopped dead on her leg at the opening notes of a song Johnny knew too well after just one listen. She cut Josh off mid-sentence and reached immediately for the volume dial; it was Pierce’s turn to groan.   
“I thought we said none of this _bolero_ shit during a job?”   
“Shh. I love this song.”  
“Yeah, me too.” Pierce had to lean forward to look at Johnny past Josh, but whatever he had to say was drowned out by Shaundi cranking the speakers as far as they would go.

At least now when he tapped his foot to the music, Johnny knew he was on beat.


End file.
